I pull on the hem of his shirt with a finger, not wanting to touch his skin. Preferably at all. Begrudgingly, once or twice for necessity.

The sharp knife cuts through the fabric and I pause as the two pieces of the torn shirt fall to either side of him, revealing a chest, and a very wrong tattoo.

Due to all the fighting he participates in, I've often seen Yulian half naked. While his back is tattooed with all sorts of shit, he only has one small tattoo on his chest—a scripture in Russian.

That's not what I see right now.

The person lying in front of me, their chest exposed, has a massive 3D black snake coiling across their stomach, its scales rising and twisting like its alive, winding down to their side with menacing grace. Its mouth is open, fangs bared, inches from their heart like it's ready to sink in and tear into them.

I take a step back.

Unless Yulian got a new tattoo in the last forty-eight hours, this isn't him.

My mind races. How?

I clearly heard his voice when I slipped him the drug, and I kept my eyes on him from then on. Except for when he went up the stairs first.

Fuck.

If this is a trap, I'm not waiting around to find out. My legs carry me toward the door in quick, silent steps.

The moment I grab the knob, a metal barrel is placed against my temple, and a gun clicks.

An unfamiliar voice whispers in my ear,